


if it turns to chaos

by hayleyisbored



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, overdue apology, working through emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayleyisbored/pseuds/hayleyisbored
Summary: "Stubborn, grating, eager to please. You may be all of those things, Jaskier - ""This isn't exactly what I'd call a promising start."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	if it turns to chaos

_“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands,”_

Jaskier had desperately wanted to cry. Then he had wanted to become angry but that never looked well on him. During the seconds after Geralt's outburst, Jaskier had been caught in limbo between the two and the only thing he'd been capable of was to uncharacteristically flounder. 

In the end, all he could manage was bid a final heartbroken farewell to Geralt atop of the mountain though he doubted the witcher heard it for what it was. Perhaps he missed the air of finality about it. Maybe he'd even taken it for granted, his thoughts snagged upon Yennefer's departure, on the child of surprise. 

With nowhere to go but down in every sense of the word, Jaskier descended the mountain and let his trudging feet carry him from Geralt no matter how much his heart rebelled.

What else could Jaskier do but wander without motivation from town to filthy town, save for the desire for coin, company and as many drinks as he could garner from both before the innkeeper would toss him, his mournful warbling and his sorrows to the streets.

A whole year passes without sight or sound of Geralt; he could be anywhere now, could have taken a path far away from Jaskier in the hopes they may never meet again.

" _Let monsters slay monsters and be done with it,_ " Jaskier thinks to himself in his more wrathful, despairing moments, which only serves to plunge him further into anguish to find he could ever summon such spiteful thoughts about someone he still loves dearly in spite of everything. 

Sometimes, Jaskier feels _too_ full of love. Sometimes, he yearns to feel less that it won't hurt as much.

Fate, it seems, has a certain sense of irony that it should throw the unlikely pair together so often but it has allowed Jaskier this grace period where golden eyes and white hair are a thing to be relegated to wishful daydreams and pining nightmares, and no longer a common sight beside him on the winding road no matter how often he thinks upon it.

Of course, he still has to sing about the bloody buffoon. He'd tried in those earlier months, tried to quench the baying hordes thirst for gore and triumph with some of his older songs but it wouldn't do. The calls to hear about Geralt of Rivia were too great, his songs too popular - darn his own talent! Darn it to hell! - so daily he must swallow down his bitterness like medicine and urge the crowds to please toss a damned coin to their witcher so that they may also throw a few his way.

And if news ever reaches him that a witcher might be in town? He grabs his lute and hightails it in the opposite direction. 

Jaskier is currently between towns, travelling light with only his instrument and a change of clothes in his bag. Everything else had been squandered some nights ago and, after a rather unfortunate run in with a lord whose daughter holds quite the grudge against Jaskier, he'd been forced to move on before he could make up enough money to keep himself comfortable.

Jaskier doesn't mind much. It had been a sweet summer evening and the air is still crisp on the fringe of nightfall; it fills his lungs with some lightness he hasn't felt in a long while, buoys him up and adds a revived spring to his step which had been in the habit of dragging of late. Beyond the twisting branches and the leafy canopy, dusk is bidding its final farewell to the sky and makes way for what promises to be a jewel studded night.

The world may be shadowy and frightening at times but it can also offer up its most sublime treasures to make you think things are not so wholly bad after all. It's a balm to soothe Jaskier's weary aches.

He eventually slows when the last patch of inky blue succumbs to the darkness, steps off the beaten road and down towards an inoffensive little clearing some way into the trees. The closest town is still a day's worth of walking away and though Jaskier may prefer a soft mattress to the backbreaking forest floor, he'd sooner stop and rest in the embrace of a gnarled tree trunk than risk the wrath of backbreaking bandits instead.

It's only when he stumbles through the thicket, plucking a half-realised melody out of his lute, that he realises he is not alone.

He's confronted by a hunched figure in black, white hair pulled back to keep from obstructing the man's sight though tendrils still flutter freely in the gentle breeze. That taut back turns Jaskier's mouth dry; the shifting muscles beneath the travel-worn material are as familiar to Jaskier as the chords of his own compositions. How much Jaskier has dreamt of playing the lines of that back like he would with his strings, to dance the pads of his fingers across warm skin with confidence and strum carefully concealed notes from the scars that lay there.

Jaskier knows the man is aware of the new company despite his fixed attention on rifling through a sack, that he's choosing to pretend otherwise. Jaskier might have retreated if not for the betrayal of his eager tongue, shaping the name even against Jaskier's will.

"G - Geralt?!"

Of course. It's only natural that their lives should entwine once again when Jaskier is least expecting to be emotionally ambushed. His breath comes hard and fast as if he's at the end of a sprint, and he reaches to press a shaking hand to his chest in the hope of urging his lovesick heart to cease its infernal hammering. 

Geralt of Rivia slowly straightens from his crouch, hand re-emerging from the sack and halting in its search. He's no longer able to ignore. When he turns, his expression is blank, a marble face that should belong to the galleries of some grand distant hall and not the middle of the woods. 

"Jaskier." he says calmly, for all the world reacting as if this is perfectly fine, as if no time has passed. As if he hadn't pitched Jaskier's heart from a cliff all those months ago. 

Jaskier can scarce believe it but no, there is Roach also, affixed to a tree and thoroughly entertained by the remnants of an apple.

"What are you doing here?!"

Geralt glances around, sarcasm rolling off him in waves even without the usual requirement of opening one's mouth. His broad shoulders pull back in what would be perceived as an almost lazy gesture if Jaskier knew him less. 

"I'm making camp," says the witcher casually. "And you're standing in my fire." 

Jaskier looks down; sure enough, his feet are half buried beneath unlit kindling, a respectable bundle of twigs and snapped branches stacked close by.

"How is it that I have managed to evade you for a whole year and across an impressive selection of truly seedy inns only to run into you here at the edge of nowhere?" Jaskier asks, aggrieved, kicking the debris from his shoes. He keeps some distance from Geralt, hardly trusting himself not to seek out the witcher's chest with a tentative touch to affirm he is truly here. 

"I suppose some are born luckier than others."

"Oh, that's very funny. You are a wonder, Geralt. Really, I've missed that scathing wit of yours." 

Jaskier immediately wishes to take back the words. A jest it may have been but it rings of truth all the same. He can see from the look on Geralt's face that it is as plain to him as it is to Jaskier.

"You can stay if you want." Geralt says bluntly, answering the unspoken question hanging heavy between them while he rearranges the mess Jaskier has made of the fire. Loathe he may be to accept it but Jaskier is well and truly fucked now he's clapped eyes on Geralt again. "My meal can stretch enough for two."

"Well, it's too late for me to make my own camp so I suppose this will have to do. I wonder whether you can stomach my presence though." 

Geralt blinks; an action that speaks volumes in reluctance. "What do you mean?"

The question comes out rough, as jagged and volatile as rocky terrain.

"What do I mean? I mean to express surprise that a man such as yourself should deign to sup with the likes of me." Jaskier mutters, knowing that Geralt can hear him perfectly well. He waits for the other man to finish lighting the fire before he goes on; his experience has taught him that Geralt is more receptive when his mind isn't lost in another task. "I suppose you're shocked to see I'm still standing on my own two feet?"

Geralt briefly glances up to perform a cursory scan of Jaskier head to toe, ensuring that yes, he is still in possession of all his limbs as well as his sharp mind. The now crackling fire is a stark contrast to the tone of Geralt's voice.

"You look like you're doing fine."

"Fine, he says! Geralt, have you taken leave of what little sense you had?! This past year on my own has been a monstrous necessity. You willed me away, so away I went! Do not mistake it for complacency on my part! I have had a miserable, lonesome time of it." 

"I can't imagine why."

The strength of indifference from Geralt is enough to smash open the already fragile floodgates of Jaskier's self-restraint. Jaskier drops his lute and his bag, deciding that if Geralt is determined to show as little as possible then _he_ will do his best to squeeze out every bit of his own turbulent feelings in retaliation. 

"You towering, mute brute! Have you forgotten the day of the dragon hunt so easily? Your condemnation of me was practically a speech, it was an unprecedented diatribe! You speak so few words to me, Geralt, that to hear so many from you that day - and uncommonly cruel in nature - near beat the regard and warmth I have for you out of my heart."

"Jaskier - "

"And yet it lingers on! The callousness of it all that I should ache for you still! How I've tried to translate that into song, to push myself into a conscious act to move on from you but to no avail. I'm a man open to emotions but the pain you unleashed upon me runs deep enough that I'm too afraid to confront it for fear I shall never recover. Where would I be then?" 

Jaskier marches back and forth, orange light tripping across his anguished features.

"I am brittle, Geralt. My soul feels it may splinter into pieces if so much as an unkindly huff from you should pass over me like a dark cloud bringing the promise of a storm. I tell you, an eggshell is more structurally sound than my soul at present!"

"Jaskier." Geralt grits out, sitting back on his haunches. "You've made your sentiments clear enough. If it suits, I will leave you in the morning and be out of your life forever."

"...you would leave me in the morning? _You would leave me in the morning?!_ " Jaskier exclaims incredulously. He stops in his pacing, turns bodily towards the witcher. "You care so little about our friendship that you would - would calmly walk away into the wilderness and leave me once more? Without words of comfort? Without heartfelt apologies?" 

Geralt doesn't lift his eyes from the spitting fire and stirs it up, sending glowing embers flying into the sky. "You know that's not my way."

Jaskier laughs; it's hollow, he sounds like the echo of a drum. 

"I'm beginning to understand 'old dog, new tricks' but I confess, you wound me. I know I can be grating, pushy, too eager to please - "

" - stubborn, chatty - "

"God's, hold your tongue and do _not_ interrupt me! I've spent years trying to coax even a sentence from you and this is the moment you choose to respond?" Jaskier snaps, fury in his eyes. Geralt ducks his head in submission, turns away from the rage burning the bard up from the inside out, perhaps burning away any of that remaining goodwill for Geralt which Jaskier had helplessly clung to. "You are not without fault yourself but I can see obstinacy runs as much through your veins as it does mine! You will not make amends so I can only come to the conclusion that you never considered us friends to begin with. I'm a burden to you."

It is the shine to Jaskier's eyes that softens Geralt in the end, the crack in his words that demand the witcher to quell his ego. Jaskier is hurting, deeply, and to deny him any further is a fool's errand. 

"That's not true."

"Then why do you torment me like this?! Why do you try to push me away?"

"Ah fuck," Geralt breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Don't make me say it."

"What is so terrible to you that you would rather we carry on as we are? Why have you nothing to say to me?"

"Because I am ashamed, Jaskier." Geralt's voice rumbles ferociously, startling and scattering birds in a nearby tree. Roach whinnies softly at the disruption. "I am ashamed and to apologise turns that shame tangible. To admit a mistake on my part."

"Am I not owed that? You refuse to humble yourself because of what, your pride? You damned witchers, so bloody typical - "

"No. I hurt you and it - grieves me - to acknowledge it."

Geralt's strained confession ushers in a stunned silence. Jaskier has rarely gone more than a minute without keeping up a stream of enthusiastic prattle - Geralt discovered long ago that to Jaskier, a conversation needn't have two willing participants to make it so - and the sudden quiet between them feels unnerving to Geralt. It has his fingers itching for a sword, a hilt, something to grip onto to keep the hairs on the back of his neck from prickling with unease. All of his senses tell him that this is a situation fast turning south.

For the first time, Geralt is the one to break the lull.

"I have no knack for apologies, Jaskier. I've not your words."

"I can see that!" Jaskier finally says with some feeling, gesticulating wildly. "It was without a doubt the worst apology I've ever heard and believe me, I've had some stinkers! Perhaps it would be a comfort to realise there's something you cannot do but the circumstances keep me from celebrating." 

"Then - " Geralt stops himself, unsure of how best to proceed.

Jaskier shakes his head, hands firm on his hips. "Then, what?"

"Then teach me how. How do I set this right?" 

"Firstly, don't make the apology all about yourself, you great oaf. You must put some feeling into it, Geralt, and when you think you have reached your limit for grovelling on your knees, I suggest you move lower still and beg my forgiveness from your stomach."

"You'd have me crawling in the dirt like a worm?"

"I would." Jaskier says adamantly but there's something in his face, a smile playing about his mouth. A chink in the armour.

Geralt calls the bluff. He rises from his place at the fire, turns his back on it entirely, and moves to stand face to face with the bard.

"You wish for me to plead?" He says now, voice lower yet, observing the slight tremble of Jaskier's shoulders as the witcher looms over him.

Jaskier's reply comes in a whisper, "Yes."

"Then you shall have it."

Geralt drops to his knees. Jaskier tracks the motion, his hands twitch like they want to drag him back up again but he holds fast. This has been a long time coming.

Geralt tips his head, golden eyes watching Jaskier with clear resolve, allowing him to see unfettered naked honesty upon his face.

"Stubborn, grating, eager to please. You may be all of those things, Jaskier - "

"This isn't exactly what I'd call a promising start."

"- but they are qualities moulded by love." Geralt says, an unusual vulnerability in his gaze. It turns gold to liquid, makes it molten instead of cold and impenetrable. "Stubborn because you refuse to give me up though I've hardly earnt that loyalty. Grating because you throw yourself into multitudes of danger simply so you can compose your ballads, borne by your passion. Eager to please because as freely as you love, you desire to be loved back, by any and all you meet. Even by those undeserving of your attentions." 

"Well, I - uh - " 

"I am undeserving of that love, Jaskier. I blamed you for troubles forged by my own hands when all you wanted was to distract me from them. I have spent this year past repenting for that mistake." 

Jaskier is suddenly aware of a stinging in his eyes, of tears turning cool on his cheek. He had not known that Geralt could think so deeply of him, nor so _highly_ either. He had always assumed that any regard was unrequited on his own side.

"I offer you the most sincere apology I can make in the hope that in time, you will forgive me."

"Oh, get up!" Jaskier insists, gripping at Geralt's shirt in a fruitless bid to haul him from his bowed position. He could be pulling at rock for how little Geralt is jostled. The witcher has the gall to smile. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you've been practising."

"I've had time to think on it." 

"Well, it wasn't horrendous. Quite frankly, I'm stunned." Jaskier tells him. "I didn't know you had it in you. Maybe my influence has rubbed off on you after all? Now would you just get up already, you've made your point! You have my full forgiveness."

"Hmm," Geralt is good enough to give in to all of Jaskier's efforts to get him to stand. Blessed order is restored when the witcher finds his feet. "I'm glad it was to your liking because that will be the last time."

"That's very big of you - "

"It will be the last time because I won't send you away again."

Something small and sad waters down Jaskier's smile, makes it bleed and blur around the edges. "As good as it is to hear you say that, I wouldn't make any promises if I were you, Geralt. You're as inconstant as the weather."

Jaskier has always known this. It had been easier to accept Geralt's sudden disappearances or flighty nature when it had coincided with Jaskier's own terms; Geralt arrived in town with a monster problem, Geralt slayed said monster, Jaskier was treated to a drink with the witcher and fresh material in which to grossly embellish for song writing purposes before Geralt slipped away in pursuit of other beastly goings on. It was a routine that had suited them until Jaskier found that his respect had quietly transformed into something else. Something more potent and harder to be rid of.

Therein lies the snag.

When Geralt had cast him off, it had wrecked Jaskier. Instead of mutually heading their separate ways with an assurance that they would meet in the near future, Jaskier had had to wrestle with the knowledge that Geralt never wanted to lay eyes on him from that day hence. He became undone. The entire event had punctuated his being more than he could have ever anticipated, it had reshaped his whole existence. How would he survive such a thing again?

"You doubt me still?" Geralt asks solemnly, studying Jaskier's thoughts as they pass over his face. 

"Entirely." 

Geralt frowns at Jaskier, a pinched expression he has often directed at those around him but never inwardly. After a moment, he heaves a sigh. 

"Come here."

"Uh, beg your pardon?"

"Come here," he repeats, motioning to the particular spot of forest floor immediately before him.

So Jaskier comes, albeit cautiously. Geralt extends one hand, palm facing up so that Jaskier could trace the lines embedded there if he felt so inclined but before he can decide what exactly Geralt wants from him, the witcher slowly slides his fingers along the sleeve of Jaskier's doublet and down to his elbow, grasping its crook with a squeeze. 

Jaskier never knew an elbow touch could be so intimate, so _disarming_. He's ready to educate the world on this newly acquired piece of information, already has at least half a dozen lyrics about the raptures of elbow touching formed in his mind by the time Geralt encourages him forward with the gentlest of tugs, sending him stumbling into capable arms.

To be caught in the embrace of the witcher is unexplored territory for Jaskier but heavens, what thrilling uncharted lands they are. When Geralt's hold tightens, Jaskier lets himself give way to it; he crumbles into Geralt's touch, leans into him as if to meld their bodies into one because this - _this_ \- is all he has dreamt of for months, even in his waking hours. He never imagined he may have it, that Geralt would offer it freely and with such tenderness.

"I will do better, Jaskier." Geralt murmurs, the sound of it reverberating from his chest and to the shell of Jaskier's ear.

"If you try any harder, I feel sworn to warn you that my love for you will only deepen and I'll have to forsake all other lovers. There'll be _songs_ , Geralt. Songs that will make even you blush, I'd wager - I _can_ hear you laughing, you know!" Jaskier says indignantly, pulling away to see the humour in Geralt's eyes.

"You work to embarrass but I only hear a challenge in those words." Geralt informs him over his shoulder, moving to check on the fire.

And how could Jaskier not grin at the invitation, the _dare_ written all over Geralt's face? Jaskier scoops up his lute, dusts off the dirt from it to atone for subjecting the poor thing to such an environment, and thrums out a quick succession of idle, lively notes as he watches Geralt from beneath his lids.

Geralt looks up from the fire and raises an eyebrow but Jaskier can ascertain the quip there, can almost hear him say _stop teasing._

"Then in the name of all that is sacred, please try, and do your worst to love me, witcher."

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh, happy belated valentine's day! I should tell you that I know nothing of The Witcher outside of the show so please forgive me for any details lacking but gosh, I sure love their dynamic. Here for some emotional turbulence with a happy ending!
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading!


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